Nau Rin sat in her room, absently turning the pages of a book. Her throat felt dry. When she opened the door to get some water, her eyes met her father's as he was climbing the stairs.
A pillow was tucked under his arm—quiet proof that her mother's anger had not yet passed.
"Are you going to sleep in my brother's room?" Nau Rin whispered.
Her father smiled and gave a small nod.
They looked at each other for a moment, then laughed softly without words, understanding each other through nothing but their eyes.
Adjusting the pillow under his arm, he spoke softly.
"If you're not sleepy yet, how about a game of Go?"
Nau Rin's face brightened.
"Sure. I'm not tired at all."
They took their seats on opposite sides of the reddish-brown wooden table. To the right, Mr. Go settled in with a glass of wine beside him. To the left, Nau Rin sat holding her mug of warm milk.
"It's late," her father said. "Let's play on a 9×9 board."
With that, he laid out the wooden board between them.
The game began.
Nau Rin chose the black stones and placed her first move boldly in the upper-right corner. Mr. Go took White and responded by settling a stone in the lower-left, calmly laying the foundation of his position. Within only a few exchanges, black and white stones appeared in all four corners, the board quietly drawing its first invisible lines of territory.
Before long, the stillness gave way.
Nau Rin began her push toward the center of the board. She ignored theNarrow constraints, forcing her way into the middle, slipping between the white stones like water finding unseen cracks. Each of her moves looked like an attack, sharp and direct, yet in truth they were openings—each one preparing the path for the next.
She drove deeper through the narrow gaps, aiming to sever the hidden connections that held White together, threading her presence into the heart of the formation.
Mr. Go did not step back. Instead, he narrowed Black's routes, applying soft pressure from the sides, gently but steadily tightening the net.
A fierce struggle erupted in the upper-left area. Nau Rin aimed to completely surround one of her father's groups and declared with confidence,
"Atari."
It signaled that the opposing stones were down to their last breath.
But Mr. Go remained unshaken.
With a single crosscut, he broke through the encirclement, severing Black's attack and creating just enough space—two eyes—to survive. In that moment, the white group became impossible to kill. Meanwhile, Black's stones failed to connect, left scattered, isolated, and exposed.
The board filled rapidly.
The more Black advanced, the fewer paths remained to withdraw. Saving one group meant abandoning another; there was no space left to reach both. White's stones appeared fewer, yet each was alive, supporting the others in quiet coordination.
Without any words spoken, the balance of the board slowly shifted.
As the game drew toward its close, the board seemed to shrink. The stones stood shoulder to shoulder, leaving hardly any room to breathe. Mr. Go set down one of his last stones with meticulous care, the soft click against the wood sounding louder than before in the quiet room.
"Well," he asked, not lifting his eyes from the board, "how does it look to you now?"
Nau Rin looked down at the board and realized her defeat. Deep down, she had known it for a while—she was losing from the very beginning. It was simply too late to turn back.
"I think I'm going to lose."
Her father gave a small nod, as if confirming something he had known for a while. He gestured toward the board.
"Look closely. Your black stones are scattered everywhere. Why is that?"
Nau Rin spoke with confidence.
"I knew those moves were risky. But from the moment I placed my first stone, my only goal was to win. That's why I wanted to turn risk into opportunity."
He listened, then pointed gently at the encircled groups.
"Yes. You kept attacking… and now you have nowhere left to defend. If you had stepped back just a little, you might have kept the game within reach."
Nau Rin fell silent. The board held her gaze, and for a moment, even her breathing seemed to slow. Mr. Go looked at her, his eyes deep, his voice gentler, yet weighted with meaning.
"Winning or losing isn't the most important thing, Nau Rin. What matters most is staying safe… staying alive. Do you understand?"
She looked at the board once more before placing her final stone. As she withdrew her hand, she smiled at him — a small, warm smile.
"Yes. I understand. I promise."
She extended her little finger. He smiled too, hooking his pinky with hers, sealing the promise in that quiet, childlike way.
In the final position, every possibility for Black to open new ground had vanished. The black stones, driven toward the center, were cut apart one after another. Territory that once looked secure revealed itself to be lifeless. When Nau Rin filled the last open point, the game came to an end. No moves remained.
She covered her face with both hands and sighed deeply.
"I lost again!" she said, her voice carrying a playful note of complaint rather than real sorrow.
Mr. Go rose unhurriedly from his seat and made his way toward the kitchen. From her spot on the chair, arms wrapped around her knees, Nau Rin watched in silence as he steeped the chamomile tea. After a moment, she spoke.
"Are you bringing that to Mom?"
"I'll take it in to your mother. It might help her feel a little more at ease," Mr. Go answered softly.
"Ooh.… our dad is so romantic," Nau Rin remarked playfully.
Mr. Go poured the steeped tea into a cup, the steam curling upward in thin, silver threads. He placed it carefully on a tray, then looked at his daughter with a graceful, almost secretive smile before turning toward the room.
Watching his retreating figure, Nau Rin raised her thumb behind him.
"Wow… incredible," she whispered, the warmth of the moment lingering in the quiet house.
When Mr. Go stepped into the bedroom, his wife lay on the bed, facing the wall without a blanket. He carefully placed the cup of tea on the bedside table, then took a blanket out from the cabinet and gently tried to cover her. She immediately grabbed the blanket and flung it to the floor.
Unperturbed, he picked it up and tried once more. Again, she flung it away. This silent struggle continued several times until finally, Mrs. Go's patience snapped. She spun around sharply, her eyes flashing with exasperation.
"You…!" she started.
But Mr. Go remained calm, as if nothing had happened.
"Honey," he said softly, his tone steady, "drink your tea before it cools. And please… stop tossing this blanket on the floor—it's getting dusty."
Leaning against the headboard, Mrs. Go stole a glance at the tea, trying to suppress her frustration. Her voice was quiet, but sharp enough to cut through the air.
"Why did you agree?" she asked.
"First, finish your tea before it goes cold," he replied, settling himself comfortably at the corner of the bed.
Reluctantly, Mrs. Go took a sip. Mr. Go began again, calm and measured.
"Think about it. It's really not so bad. This is just a teenage competition—only kids your daughter's age will take part. And it's rare for a girls' division to form at all."
She listened, patience softening the sharp edges of her gaze.
"So even if we don't oppose it, it might still be canceled," he added.
"And if it isn't?" she asked, her voice tinged with worry.
"Well, if it goes ahead, only two or three children will participate at most," he said reassuringly.
A shadow of sadness lingered in her voice.
"I just… I don't want to see our daughter hurt like that again," she whispered.
Mr. Go leaned closer, taking her hands into his own. He cupped them gently, intertwining his fingers with hers, and whispered with quiet certainty,
"That won't happen. You don't need to worry."
Just then, Nau Rin stepped into her room, carrying a pack of ice. She wrapped it carefully in a cloth and pressed it gently against her injured shoulder. The swelling had gone down a little compared to yesterday.
She thought back over the day's events and let out a quiet laugh, murmuring, 'Fools…' under her breath and shaking her head.
Only now did she fully realize how risky her actions had been.
Thankfully, she hadn't made any sudden movements to aggravate her shoulder—she hadn't lifted her arm beyond ten degrees. Amid the chaos, no one had even noticed her careful restraint.
Sitting at her desk, she began to meticulously map out her training plan for the next month. Yet she quickly realized that with her injured shoulder, there were very few exercises she could do safely. Still, she set about writing them down, determined to make the most of what she could manage.
As dawn broke, she stirred from her bed and hurried to head out for her morning run. The bedroom door closed quietly behind her as she stepped over the threshold, the soft click barely disturbing the stillness of the house.
Nau Rin ran with a steady, measured rhythm, gradually increasing her pace every twenty minutes. Years of daily training had built her endurance, allowing her to run for two or three uninterrupted hours. After over an hour of running, she stopped at the foot of a steep, rising staircase. She was certain she had never set foot here before. When she looked up, she could just make out the point where the stairs reached their crest, yet whatever lay beyond remained hidden from sight.
Each step was high, demanding a deliberate effort with every climb. Trees ringed the staircase—not dense enough to form a forest, yet not sparse enough to feel open. Time had not been kind to the structure; the edges of the steps were chipped, the surfaces worn dull, as if countless seasons had passed their quiet judgment here.
Perhaps this staircase was the training ground she needed—more than just a few shallow city steps, yet closer than the distant bridges.
She looked around, but there wasn't another soul in sight. Perhaps because of that solitude, the staircase loomed dark and unsettling in the long shadows of the trees.
She dismissed the feeling. It's probably nothing. Just an abandoned structure, she reasoned.
With that, she placed her foot on the first step and began to climb.